There must be real Valjeans, else how could authors write about them? Supposing some day she met one of these astonishing creators, who could make one cry and laugh and forget, who could thrill one with love and anger and tenderness? Most of us have witnessed carnivals. He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support. ‘What is this fate?’ ‘Un mariage of no distinction. We always go out to dinner on holidays. ’ She tried to shake his hands off her wrists, but Gerald held them fast and tutted at her. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts.
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